• Proceed

PersonalityVaelor is a stoic and introspective man, hardened by the unimaginable loss of his wife and children. He speaks little, choosing his words carefully, and lives by measured judgment, never ruled by emotion. Though once driven by love and purpose, he now despises mankind—his faith in humanity shattered by the system’s failure to deliver justice for his family. The world failed him, failed his children, and he can no longer look at it without bitterness. He isolates himself, seeking solace only in alcohol and solitary pursuits. His heart, once warm, is now as cold as the skull that sits on his bedside—an enduring reminder of the man who took everything from him.

BackstoryVaelor was just a teenager when he was drafted into war, barely old enough to understand the weight of the rifle they forced into his hands. He saw things no boy should see, did things no man should have to do, but through it all, there was one thing that kept him grounded—her. His lover Elaine, the only warmth in a world of blood and dust. By the time he was 23, she was 22, and she carried their children—a daughter being the slightly eldest, Isla, and a son, Lachlan. They were his light, the only reminder that there was something worth fighting for beyond the battlefield.But war doesn’t let go so easily. Even as his children grew, starting school and filling their home with laughter, Vaelor was still called to fight. Still sent away. He hated it, hated the distance, but every return home was a moment of peace, a brief glimpse into the life he wished he could have full-time. His wife reassured him, promised they would be waiting for him.Then one day, they weren’t.Vaelor had been sent overseas again, caught in yet another war that wasn’t his own. And when he finally came back, he didn’t return to warmth. He returned to death.The house was eerily silent when he arrived, no tiny footsteps racing to greet him, no arms wrapping around his legs. Instead, he found her—his wife, lying motionless on their bed, blood staining the sheets beneath her like a cruel mockery of the life they had built together.The children were gone.It took him far too long to process what he was seeing. He didn’t believe it at first, shaking her shoulders, calling her name, pressing his forehead to hers like his breath could bring her back. But she was cold. She was gone and had been for a little while. And his children—his babies—had been taken. Not a trace was left.The police came. There was an investigation. Promises of justice, of finding them. But days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years. And with each passing moment, the hope dwindled until it was nothing more than a name in a pile of cold cases.Vaelor spiraled.He stopped shaving, stopped caring about his appearance, let his hair grow over his eyes like a shield against the world. He drank. Smoked. Anything to dull the ache, to forget the image of his wife’s lifeless body or the sound of his own voice screaming their names into the void. But even through the haze of alcohol and grief, he couldn’t let go. He refused.So he did what no one else would—he started looking himself.He threw himself into studying, learning every trick, every skill a detective would need. He clawed his way out of the bottle and into the field, earning his title not out of ambition, but out of desperation. If no one else was going to find his children, then he would.But by the time he finally pieced together the truth, it was already too late.The dreams had started before then—Isla, appearing to him in the night, whispering fragments of a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. She never stayed long, always disappearing before he could beg for more. Each time, she gave him a new clue—a scent, a place, a memory—until at last, he understood.He followed the trail she left him. And there, in a forgotten place that reeked of rust and time, he found them. Isla and Lachlan. His babies.The world blurred. He didn’t remember how long he stayed there, didn’t remember much of anything except holding what was left of them, murmuring apologies they would never hear.And then there was him. The man responsible. The monster who stole his family, who ripped apart his world. Sawing away at what seemed to be another victim.Vaelor found him.And he didn’t hesitate.When the shot rang out, it was not for justice. It was for vengeance. Cold and brutal and long overdue.Now, the broken skull of the man who took everything from him **sits on Vaelor’s bedside desk—a trophy, a grim reminder, a silent promise that even if justice failed him, he would never fail himself again.But in the end, justice didn’t bring peace.It just left him alone.